Sunday January 22

An enjoyable final day in PNG.

Our first clinic of the day was out in a village district by the name of Waru. We drove out in an armed convoy, a line of four-wheel drives led by “security” (meaning a hand-axe and a shotgun). The drive out was so much fun – bumpy dirt roads, dipping through streams, chatting in the back with the others, hitting heads on the ceiling as we rolled through ditches. Through the back window, the long grasses and palm trees on the side of the road rushed past and retreated out of view.

It seemed that the experience of travelling in an armed convoy, and the bumpy drives down rugged, unmarked roads, really rammed home the fact that we were really in PNG. Everything felt vivid and raw, and I loved it, that envigorating feeling of adventure and something completely different to anything I had ever known before.

When we arrived at the village, we listened in awe to the sound of people gathered in the wooden church hall lifting their voices in song, naturally winding harmonies through a simple tune. Acoustic guitar and ceremonial poles topped with colourful feathers completed the scene, a rare and welcoming sight.

This young girl really enjoyed having her photo taken, and floated around the camera with a beautiful smile.

Dat swag.

The clinic was run in an elevated, open-air wooden hut. Mum was perched on the edge of the steps (wooden poles arranged in ascending position), coordinating the people to receive their injections and identifying those in need of further help, looking at the general well-being of the person as well as searching for the symptoms of ailments or injury.

Mum triaging

Elayne examining a young patient

Sue giving vaccinations to mother and child

Squishy baby face - Elayne and a mother giving a child tablets for worming/Vitamin A

Liz examining a young patient

DON'T LOSE YOUR STANDARDS. We'd occasionally come across someone wearing a brilliant t-shirt  like this!

Jodee vaccinating

Rambutan!

Elayne looking elayted :)

For our second clinic, we were back in an aid post in another workers’ living compound. Patients waited on benches in the front waiting room, could be consulted by a doctor in a side room, and be vaccinated in the back room (which vaguely smelt like a sewer). People trickled in slowly at the needle station, and in the quiet times we pulled funny faces with the kids hanging around the back door.

Pre-clinic quiet

Liz looking peaceful while drawing up vaccines

Patients waiting patiently

There was also time to learn from watching some of the patient consultations. There was a family with three children with strange lumps on their legs and back, and some shortened toes. There was also a 96 year old man who we discovered was a fuzzy wuzzy angel from WWII! He still had the scars on his chest from Japanese bullet wounds, and had a hip problem which left his leg protruding at an uncomfortable 90 degree angle from his body. He walked slowly, supported by his crutches and family.

Fuzzy wuzzy angel!!

This has been an incredible experience, immensely helpful for the beginning of med-school. Being around so many senior, experienced doctors and nurses has been a great opportunity to pick up new knowledge and skills, as well as meeting and growing close to a group of driven and inspiring people. Learning the difficulty of developing confidence in making and moving on from mistakes, and breaking out of dat comfort zone.

Much health care, so health care, very joy

Adorable kids playing with glasses

We ran a final, simple clinic from our base compound again, then settled down for our last quiet night in PNG. I was feeling sad to leave, and can’t wait to come back here again.

***

Monday January 27

We are finally going home.

A few of the Hep B tests from the clinics of the last few days showed up as positive. Liz C told us about a young boy who had recently passed away after bleeding heavily from the mouth (“like a hose”). Mum recognised the likely cause of death as Hep B. To drown in one’s own blood is a terrible and tragic way to die.

Packed up and drove to the airport. (If you could call a small, fenced-off concrete building with a set of luggage scales and waiting benches outside an “airport”). Strolled through the open-air markets by the side of the road, seeing people selling packets of crackers, bottled drinks, bananas and betel nuts from little carts or a blanket on the ground.

Elayne glowing + the magic of morning light

We savoured the last view of clouds around a mountain in the distance, palm trees, green grassy plains and hawks (eagles?) circling in the air. As it turned out, the mountain was a volcano that last erupted in ’53. 

Apparently if it does so again, we’d all be screwed.

The remainder of the day will be spent in transit. Reflecting on what has happened and preparing to slip back into “normal” life. Except, I still desperately want to hang onto that Itokama mindset that I feel is gradually slipping away out of reach. That sense of awareness and awe, immersion and complete appreciation of the moment, the teamwork and camaraderie, that beautiful feeling of purpose and exhilaration. Out there in the jungle, hardly a moment went by where we were thinking of our own selfish thoughts. And for a few days, the reality of the Barai people was our reality too, although we did have luxuries like mosquito nets, sleeping mats, food in plenty supply, clean drinking water and malaria prophylaxis.

It is a shared feeling that the “normality” that we are going back to will be a comparatively mundane one. Back to the extravagant lifestyle of consumption and waste. But it is an uplifting and hopeful thought that this feeling we have now is not going for long, but may develop into ups and downs of sensitivity, disillusionment, awe, gratitude and bonds between us loopy, sweaty, screwed-up selves.

For now, we’re all a little tired and in need of some rest. But nothing can ever take away what we have just come through together.

As we say, what happens in PNG, stays in PNG.

Carrie

Thanks for the journey everybody!